


Hugs

by phantomunmasked



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, anyway here we go some flippant fluff to tide us through these trying times, i was bored and thinking about bernie's knobbly elbows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:20:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9265514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: Berena, and how they hug.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by _that hug_ in the winter trailer. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks, as always to my brilliant brain twin [ lindsey_grissom ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom) (aka [ muddlethrough ](www.muddlethrough.tumblr.com)) for betaing for me.

Fact: Berenice Griselda Wolfe is not built for hugging.

 

She’s too skinny, for one; nothing but bones and sinew, knobbly elbows and knees and gangly limbs.   
  
That physical inability to give a proper bear hug translated itself over time to an emotional constipation that made birthday parties and childhood achievements (milestones rightfully celebrated by flinging her arms wide to welcome her offspring into an all-encompassing hug)  ever so slightly awkward.

 

(Cameron and Charlotte had to settle for pats on the shoulder, or a loving ruffle of their hair, a hearty clap on the back and a promise of chocolate and cake as reward instead)

 

For another, she’d inherited her stiff British upper lip from her father (always the Brigadier, or The Brig, very occasionally Father, or Papa. But never, ever Dad, or Daddy, or anything quite so pedestrian), the very epitome of British reserve. Even when Mother died, he’d simply cleared his throat, locked himself in his room for three days, and when he emerged, it was like nothing had changed in his life.   
  
He simply… kept calm and carried on.

 

And so, in the absence of any other example to follow, Bernie resolutely adopted his strategy, and life went on.

 

* * *

Fact: Serena Campbell gives the best hugs known to mankind.   
  
Witnesses ready and willing to testify to said fact include, _inter alia_ , one Rafaello di Lucca, one Estelle Ava Harrison, one Jason Haynes (his Auntie Serena hugged very well indeed, almost as well as his own mum), and one (very little) Fletchling named Evie.

 

It started early with her, of course. Whilst Adrienne’s hugs were few and far between, George McKinnie saw fit to shower his only daughter with all the affection he could muster. Serena’s earliest memories are of clinging to her father’s shoulders, feet dangling, as he hefted her up, offered her the Angel to crown their modest Christmas tree.

 

(she thought her little heart might just burst with pride that he’d trusted her with such a solemn duty, and years later, when she herself hoisted Elinor to top their own tree, there that feeling was again - pride and joy and such overwhelming love)

 

And because Serena adored her father, she took his love and warmth and capacity for hugs and affection with her as she grew, dispensing them as readily as she did medicine, ready to commiserate, to celebrate, to commemorate with a tender touch, given as fiercely or lightly as needed.

 

* * *

Fact: Bernie Wolfe and Serena Campbell have managed to go 4 months of acquaintance ( _and more than acquaintance, if you get the drift_ ) without hugging.

There had been that one time, in the Peace Garden, where Serena’s grief had overflowed and Bernie was moved to wrap an arm about Serena’s shoulders.   
  
But that didn’t count, did it? Didn’t pass muster as a full-on, life-sustaining bear hug. Was simply a gesture of camaraderie, of bolstering Serena, of coaxing her to the Wolfe school of thought of Keeping Calm and Carrying On.

 

So no - no official hug. Plenty of kisses (Serena doesn’t count those as hugs, they’re more like… frantic squishes), though - motivated by desperation, by fear, by lust, by _I more than like yous_.

 

But no. No proper hugs.

 

Serena had thought about hugging Bernie, of course she did. She rather thought that most people might have, patients and family alike. If anything, as a gesture of gratitude for the countless lives she’d no doubt saved, the broken people and their nearest and dearest that she had carefully pieced back together, stitch by careful stitch, operation by operation.

 

She wondered, sometimes, if Bernie thought about hugging her too; watched those smouldering eyes, shy at first and then bolder and bolder and thought - _what if I just grabbed her and hugged her, right here, right now_?

 

And then her eyes would fall to Bernie’s hands, those loving, beautiful, life-saving hands, and find them buried wrist deep in her pockets, elbows tucked neatly into her sides, the very picture of _don’t touch me_.

 

Serena has long breached that bubble, of course; now spends her days brushing shoulders, elbows, sides, thighs (and when she is feeling particularly naughty, breasts, just because she _can_ ) against the esteemed Ms Wolfe. Bernie says nothing, does nothing much; occasionally angles her body (perhaps unconsciously) so the edge of Serena’s wrist catches on the soft, warm, precious skin of Bernie’s inner forearm, and Serena tries not to dwell too much on how her skin tingles at that slightest, most casual contact.

 

But no. For all that Bernie allows Serena into her personal space, tolerates them pressed shoulder to elbow to wrist as they lean against the nurses station, they continue to go hugless.

 

Serena thinks she might go mad, soon. She begins to dream of how their first hug might be like (and isn’t that _strange,_ that she knows what their first kiss tastes like before she knows what their first hug feels like); sometimes it is Serena herself that sweeps Bernie into a fierce hug, throwing caution to the wind as she envelopes Bernie in that same warm, fierce, loyal affection she had learnt from her father, translates her love and adoration into arms about shoulders and her cheek pressed to Bernie’s neck.

 

And in other dreams, it is Bernie that gathers her into the hug, long limbs carefully winding their way about Serena’s shoulders, her waist, as Bernie seeks and gives refuge equally through the contact. In her dreams Bernie holds her softly, gently, and Serena tolerates precisely none of that, encourages Bernie to squeeze hard, to steal Serena’s breath from her as Bernie’s is stolen by Serena’s own arms, wrapped tight about Bernie’s torso.

 

In all her dreams, that is all Serena and Bernie do. They hug, and remain hugging, until Serena wakes, arms full of a wilting pillow that has been squeezed to within an inch of its natural life.

 

Serena groans, and tosses the pillow out, buys a new one.

 

Resolutely does not think about how, if only Berenice bloody Wolfe would only permit her one hug (she does not ask for much, just a simple three minute - no; one and a half - minute hug), her dreams might go back to regularly scheduled (naughtier, more pleasurable) programming.

   
  


* * *

She hears about Morven hugging Bernie, in a fit of euphoria at being named Foundation Doctor Representative, and tries to tamp down the irrational resentment to focus on celebrating Morven’s good news instead.

 

(she fails miserably, of course, and spends the rest of the day quasi-sulking at her paperwork)

 

Her knight in unexpected armour arrives, one day, in the unceremonious form of one Robbie Medcalfe, atop a gurney. Apparently there had been complications of some sort with his previous surgery, and Serena had never been more grateful for Raf’s presence to deal with Robbie because, it turns out, that Ms Berenice Griselda Wolfe, famed trauma surgeon and certified Big Macho (ex)Army Medic, is possessed of a jealous streak a mile wide (and then some).  

 

“I don’t like him,” Bernie declares, after an afternoon full of passive aggressive posturing and glaring and Serena raises an eyebrow, looks up from Mr Crawford’s chart to watch Bernie pace the length of their shared office.   
  
  
“Well be nice, anyway. If only for Jason’s sake,” Serena replies, primly, frowning down at the information in front of her.

 

“For Jason’s sake?”   
  
  
“Mmm, yes, he’s been spending time with Robbie. I thought it might be nice for him to have a male presence in his life. Not that that’s _necessary_ , per se, but he never had a dad, so in the absence of anyone else to talk footie and such with him, I thought, why not?”   


Serena is only vaguely aware of Bernie stopping abruptly in her non-stop pacing, white-pink Nike trainers appearing in her field of vision as she stares down at the file in her hands.

 

“What about Raf? And Fletch? Ric? _Hanssen?_ Besides, _I_ know how to talk about footie.”   
  
  
The pout is evident in Bernie’s voice and Serena sighs, flips her patient’s chart closed as she rubs her forehead, closes her eyes in resignation.  

  
“Yes, I know, darling, but would it be such a bad thing? Jason has said that he likes Robbie, and if that means putting up with him so Jason can spend the occasional weekend with him, just so, y’know, _I can have a bit of a break_ , I don’t _quite_ see what the problem is.”

 

Serena is met by silence, and she doesn’t have to look to picture the stricken look on Bernie’s face.   
  
  
“I’m… I’m sorry, Serena,” comes the mumbled reply, and Serena says nothing, simply looks at her own shoes as she deflates a little in exhaustion.

 

Those white-pink trainers shuffle closer, the file in her hands taken gently away, tossed with a slight _thwap_ to land on her desk.

 

“It just...gets a bit much, sometimes. I know you try to help, but… Oh ignore me, sometimes all I want is just a good cuddle and a nice long nap.”   
  
  
“Serena…”   
  
  
Bernie’s hands are warm on her shoulders, fingers flexing against the tension there and Serena still cannot bear to look at her, glances at their feet ( _white black white black)_ instead.

  
“Is that so much to ask?” Serena murmurs, her voice low, as she closes her eyes again, exhales in defeat. 

  
Bernie’s only response is a soft, startled “ _oh”_ of revelation _,_ and then those familiar, beautiful hands are shifting, moving to draw her close, and all Serena can think is _finally_ , even as her hands wind about Bernie’s waist, hold her precious and near.

  
“ _I’m sorry_ ,” is all she hears murmured against her ear, an apology for the present and for the past and all the missed chances and _ah,_ this hug is warm and safe and solid and strong and all the things Bernie _is_ and all the things Bernie _could be,_ to her, and Serena clutches her closer, squeezes tight and lets her breath be stolen from her as Bernie reciprocates, presses them chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis.

  
" _About time_ ,” is all she breathes back, tucking her face, as she had dreamt and imagined and hungered for, all these months, against Bernie’s neck.  
  
  
Bernie’s chuckle is two parts self-deprecating and one part amusement, and Serena hums in agreement, links her hands in the small of Bernie’s back as she allows herself to cling, marvels at the fact that Bernie patiently lets her, doesn’t show any signs of letting go.

 

Squeezes her tighter instead.

 

* * *

 

  
Fact: Berenice Griselda Wolfe is not built for hugging.   
  
  
Also a fact: Serena Campbell gives the best hugs known to mankind.

 

It is with no small degree of patience, therefore, that Serena resolves to teach Bernie her ways, that Bernie agrees to be taught. To understand that Serena will tolerate her knobbly elbows and pointy knees in exchange for being held, simply and silently, for a good long minute (or two). This is not to say they do not run into problems in Bernie’s education of the Art of the Hug, of course they do; after all, it is difficult to unlearn a lifetime of being held at arm’s length.   
  
  
But Serena persists, and in time, Bernie learns, the warmth of Serena’s affection spilling over into her interactions with her own children, her friends. Charlotte, for example, is welcomed back into her mother’s life with a grateful hug, a hurried kiss against her temple and a promise never to lie again, to be honest and faithful and true and deserving of her daughter’s forgiveness. For his sins, Cameron receives a friendly punch in the shoulder and then an unexpected embrace as his mother congratulates him on finishing his F1 rotations, excellent results all round.   


(If Cam and Charlotte noticed that their mother was more affectionate with them than ever, they did not comment, only resolved to treat the woman that had succeeded where they had failed all their lives better, best)

 

Even Dr Copeland benefits, finds himself folded into a careful hug atop a windswept roof and the whispered assurance “it’s ok” murmured into his ear as he weeps tears over his own stupidity, the relief at finally being free of _him_.

  
Serena, of course, is the biggest beneficiary of Bernie’s painstaking education, needs only to ask with a flick of her eyes and a tilt of her head for a hug, and Bernie comes willingly, folds Serena into her arms, allows herself to be held. She learns, too, in time, to ask for comfort herself, graduates from smouldering looks of longing to verbalising them, because _really, Bernie, sometimes things’ll be so much easier on us all if you would just use your words._

 

It is with this in mind that Serena sees to Bernie’s continued education throughout their long life together, and it is how, at the end of it all, those who knew them could only come to one conclusion.

 

* * *

 

Fact: Mrs Campbell-Wolfe gave great hugs. It didn’t matter which one of them you received said hug from, all that mattered was that the hugs _worked_.

 

They differed in character, of course they did (one was warmth personified, the other the very definition of _come on, buck up, it can’t be all that bad_ ), but there was no denying the comfort of being reassured by these extraordinary women.   
  
  
And if anyone was fortunate to see them in each other’s arms, well, there was the living embodiment of _relationship goals._

 

They could ask for no better legacy than that.

  



End file.
